


Playbunny

by crayonwars



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Ballet Dancer Sherlock Holmes, Dancing, Pole Dancing, Strippers & Strip Clubs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2019-07-07 01:29:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15898146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crayonwars/pseuds/crayonwars
Summary: “You.”He rumbles, his gravel voiced deeper, richer than Sherlock has ever heard it before. “Beautiful little whore, I’ll have you.”





	Playbunny

 

The Bluebell Bunny Club is one of John’s favorite places to go when he wants _more._

 

It’s a high-end facility that caters to wealthy men, often married, who desire pleasures of the flesh with a bdsm/rough sex slant. Besides the normal flare this particular outfit touts itself as having the most skilled, the most attractive erotic dancers around, playbunnies, that cater to all fancies.

 

It’s not John’s favorite, however, because he himself doesn’t much care for the dancing part, and while delicious, he has never found the drinks or subs to be anything exceptional. Good, yes, but not any more so compared to those found in similar haunts.

 

Perhaps it’s because he’s never considered himself particularly sophisticated when it comes to those type things. A pretty face, a tight hole he can dominate, and a strong liquor are all he requires to satisfy his cruel thrust, all he needs to slake his thirst.

 

That is, until _Sherlock._

 

He first sees him as he walks to one of his favorite ‘drinking rooms.’ Cozy spaces where a man can sit, relax, have a whiskey on the rocks, all while young servers cater to their every whim.

 

He’s not sure why he does it, but he happens to turn his head as he passes one of the discrete hallways that lead to the kitchenette areas, a place where submissives go to retrieve drinks and sexual implements to indulge their Master’s cravings.

 

He sees a young boy - clearly a sub in his short tight skirt, silver, with a sheer pink top. Around his neck is a wide black leather collar with a gleaming silver ring dangling precariously over his delicate protruding collarbones - who is so strikingly _pretty_ John’s attention is immediately arrested. He pauses to keep watching him.

 

The small teen has a tray of drinks attached to a leather strap around his neck but he’s motionless in the dim golden lighting of the hallway. The boy is just standing there, his gaze unseeingly at the wall, eyes hidden behind long auburn lashes staring off into the distance; as if John had caught him in a moment of personal reflection or lost in the tunnels of his mind.

 

Whatever the reason, it gives John time to admire the vision before him.

 

The boy is a luscious little slip of a thing. A tight, ripe little body on long, slutty legs. And a face. _Oh God_. What a lovely little thing: angelic and heart-shaped with full, pink lips and chocolate curls, shimmering in the light, that are pure sin. He is absolutely the most beautiful thing John has ever laid eyes on, he must have him.

 

The boy is like nothing he's ever seen before, and certainly nothing like any of the other dancers here. He stands out from the rest with his almost innocent virginal beauty.

 

Perhaps because of that he keeps watching and is inevitably caught.

 

The soft coy smirk the boy gives him as he snaps back to animation rival any he'd received in the past put together. John’s cock throbs with want.

 

The boy sashays up to John, a lithe swing of narrow hips that makes John automatically lick his lips.

 

The soft smirk is still present on his plush Cupid’s bow. John decides that if a pair of lips were ever made for sucking cock, they adorn this boy’s mouth.

 

“Sir,” he says. His voice is a lilting mix of rich and soft, much like the dark chocolate, glossy curls that bounce over his forehead. “May I get you something?”

 

“I--erm. Are you working?”

 

_Fuck!_

 

John has never been one to be nervous in front of a submissive, he prides himself on being domineering in all areas of his life; he didn't get to be one of England's top plastic surgeons by playing subservient to others wills. And when it comes to sluts, he’s very used to the games they like playing. Coy or cute. Hard or easy to get. John’s seen it all.

 

This boy though... John’s never wanted to fuck anything so hard in his life. He wants to **_own_ ** him. However, his head is completely controlled by his other head. Right now he’s not entirely sure he would even remember his own name if asked. Because this toy, this utter _fuckdoll_ has him suddenly unnerved in the most humiliating of ways.

 

The boy just keeps standing there and smiles this infuriatingly little, sly, knowing smile of his that tells John the boy knows his specialness, his unique prettiness. He probably has all the doms wrapped around his little finger.

 

“Of course you are.”  John grunts, remembering how one is supposed to address the subs. He finds his voice deeper and rougher that it’s gravel tones but doesn’t let that stop him. It isn’t so much due to his mind slowly kicking back in as it is the driving ache of his hard throbbing cock which necessitates it. “All right. Well then, I’m in room 221b. I want you to fetch some whiskey and yourself, of course, as soon as possible. I’ll be waiting.”

 

“Sorry, sir. I’m scheduled to go onstage in a few minutes… but, you're welcome to come and watch,” the boy finishes with a wink and a coquettish smile. Christ but John wants to stuff that pretty little mouth full of cock _for days_.

 

Sherlock notes how the muscles in the silver-haired man’s firm jawline twitch as he grinds his teeth. This older man is quite handsome. Gorgeous even, in that strong, obviously military way that makes the young teen blush unconsciously. Even though Sherlock has been able to make many men speechless, something about provoking such a response in this man sends strange shivers down Sherlock's spine.  

 

John hears a low, soft growl and it takes him a few seconds to realise the source is coming from him. Of course it would be his luck that the loveliest piece of temptation would be dangled in front of him only to let it be known the boy is untouchable.

 

Not that the dancers couldn’t be fucked. They certainly could, but they were on a higher level than the regular servers or subs. They had special skills that needed to be maintained, meaning rough fucks, the kind of rough fucking John enjoyed, like bending the slim thing over the nearest table or chair and fucking the ever living shit out of him, was off limits, or at least could only be done on rare occasions, and for much higher prices. Not that John minded the last part. He would pay any price to get a taste of this boy’s fair skin. It was the waiting he hated.

 

John hums in thought, as if considering it, “I might, but if I do, _if_ I come to see you, little slut, I want your eyes on me. I want to be the sole focus of your whorish intentions.”

 

Visibly, the boy's breath hitches in his throat.

 

Now it’s John’s turn to smirk.

 

“Of course, Sir,” soft, pink lips fall open as the boy murmurs breathily.

  
He saunters off with a swing in his hips that John's eyes are drawn inexplicably to, tight little bunny pink skirt wrapped around that _tight_ little ass, just barely grazing his creamy white thighs, and disappears through an alcove behind the stage.


End file.
